Enjoying our hard work

Puppy keeping an eye in the background

Such a big helper

A Fresh Batch

Saturday morning, making a fresh batch of Tommy's favorite meal, buttermilk pancakes. We discovered he liked them several months ago and now it's the only "suitable" breakfast for t-man. I made a big batch once with whole wheat, but later that week his rear-end couldn't keep up. We've switched back to regular buttermilk, but add another favorite item, blue berries.

The Great Salt Lake

I've never been to the Great Salt Lake in the time I've lived in Utah.  The GSL is the vestige of the ancient lake Bonneville that used to cover the whole region with fresh water.  In fact, there's a high-water mark of that lake on the surrounding mountains that's referred to as "the bench".  Bonneville lake drained about 14,000 years ago.  You can read more about it here if you'd like.

We traveled the causeway to Antelope Island last weekend.  The island felt kind of prehistoric if not other/alternate worldly to me.  It's very quiet, smells bad, and there aren't the predictable signs of life you might find near the ocean like seaweed, crabs, and thriving vegetation.  I guess there are birds, buffalo, and antelope, but you'd have to visit it to understand.  Maybe it's the plague-proportion clouds of brine flies... Turn up your volume to get an idea of the sound.

Tommy insisted on a closer look at the water. We weren't sure if he'd like it, but he sure didn't want to leave when it was time to go.

Clouds of brine flies move around you as you walk.

Some of the wildlife on the island.

Birds sitting on a sand-bar offshore.

In non-related news, Tommy is a funny eater.  A few weeks ago I grilled salmon for dinner and made something more kid-friendly for Tom.  He flatly refused his special meal and proceeded to eat about 4 oz of salmon.  Fast forward to this past week when I made salmon again, Tommy refused to eat salmon or fried zucchini which he's also eaten well on a few occassions.  At least he's eating most of the time.

Not your typical kids meal.  Maybe he would have eaten it better off my plate?

Some good pictures of Mario have surfaced - thanks everybody!  This was Mario in his younger years getting his head-hump groove on.

I normally wouldn't put these up, but little else brought Mario so much happiness as dominating Kirby.

Lastly, I helped Pat take a load of green waste to the dump yesterday and recall reading that old rear-projection TVs had big fresnel lenses.  The West-Bountiful dump usually has a big recycle area full of them so I thought I'd check it out.  Indeed - I took 3 home, one of which is in good shape.

I need to put it in a frame so it doesn't bend, but even flimsy and hand-held it melted steel.  I need to get some welding goggles next because that bugger is bright...

Something else I forgot

My dad was never a dog lover until Mario melted his heart. 

Jonathan and Katie, Mom and I are heartbroken over Mario.  We grieve his
loss and will always remember him as a truly unique, loving dog.  We will miss his hugs and I will miss especially singing with him.  He was one of a kind.  I pass along one of my favorite pictures of him.  

Without Title

Beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of man without his vices.

Our hearts are broken.  Mario died unexpectedly this morning, and words cannot express our sadness.

We had been married for about 3 years, and were living in an apartment when we asked the landlord if we could have a dog.  It took a bit of convincing - nobody else in the building had ever had one.  Eventually she agreed on the condition that it was small.

I didn't like the idea of a small dog, never having had one, but the desire for companionship won out and the search began.  I searched the pounds for a few months, trying to find a small dog with big personality.  One day we found Daisy, a sweet, beautiful miniature pinscher, but when the pound called our landlord for approval, she was denied at 20 pounds - we had to stay under 15.

A few more weeks went by when I got a call after work.  A pound in Orem, about an hour's drive away, had a small terrier that was due to be euthanized the next day.  Because the pound closed at 5pm, and they wouldn't hold him until Monday, I lied to my boss so I could make it there on time to see the animal.  I suspected his pending euthanasia was a story they told everybody, but when I saw him I could tell he had been there some time.  His hair was matted and filthy, and he was sad, as if he knew his end was near, but more that nobody loved him.

 He was so hideous I turned on my heel and walked out when I saw him.  Then I was so mad at having lied to my boss and driven an hour out of my way, I thought I'd better take a good look before leaving.  Mind you, I'd been looking in pounds for months, and had seen lots of puppy-dog eyes.  I didn't decide to take him because he was ugly, pathetic, and about to die.  I believe I took this dog because we connected, and because he was supposed to be part of our lives.

Mario's harrowing tale didn't end there.  When I got him home I bathed him at least twice, if not 3 times, and gave him what was likely his first haircut.  Even after all my primping, he was so ugly that Katie didn't even want to look at him.  She was mad that I'd taken this rat - she didn't want to bond with a dog that she wanted to go back.  I don't recall what happended next, but suspect he made the same connection with her that he had made with me.  Mario had finally come home.

Some of you may doubt what I'm going to say next, but you probably never met him.  As I write his little story, it's clear that Mario was supposed to be part of our family, maybe even that God chose him for us.  He provided much needed comfort through some difficult years, unable to conceive our own child.  He, in Katie's own words, caught every last tear shed as we grieved the absence of a child in our lives.  He very nearly filled that void in our hearts with his love, and we loved him fiercely in return.  He was our surrogate child for 10 years.

If you met him, you know it's no exaggeration that you'd be hard-pressed to find more personality and intelligence in 12 pounds of dog.  Our love can't be expressed in words, so instead I'll share a little about what he was like.

Mario took terrible pictures - the one above is about the best out of ten years.

He was black and white polka-dots, everywhere - even the skin on his belly, his toenails, and the roof of his mouth.

He "talked back" when you gave him a command.  He sassed and complained, even as he was obeying.

He had an iron bladder - able to go 10 hours routinely between potty breaks.  This was great because we both worked full time for his first few years.  Occassionally he went 12, but we tried to avoid this.  After greeting us at the door, he'd go drink water like a fish.  This was a smart dog.

He was a typical terrier - he policed the entire block at every house we lived in.

He hated cats, and chased them mercilessly.  One day he actually cornered one, and didn't know what to do.  She cut his nose open with a swipe of her paw.

Until the day he died he would run to the window when you said "kitty".

He spent most of his life with 1 ear up, and 1 ear down.

Chocolate is poison to dogs.  Mario ate (by stealing) several chocolate bars in his life, and never skipped a beat.

Mario had a taste for "liquid nails" construction adhesive (also an unathorized treat).

He liked to play hide-and-go-seek.  I taught him to wait upstairs while I hid downstairs.  I'd call him and he'd search tirelessly, and was so proud when he found me.  He could play that all night.

He loved walks

One night in Liberty Park, I let him off leash.  He noted a bicyclist across the street, at least 50 yards away.  He somehow ran across 7 lanes of traffic without getting hit, twice, to chase off the offender.  He was never off leash again.

He was terrified of lightning and thunder. 

Mario wouldn't associate with little dogs.  His best friend was a 60 pound shepherd mix named Kirby.

Mario used to lick Kirby's eyes clean, and then hump his head when he was lying down.

While he loved Kirby, he was a jealous dog.  The only way we could get him to play with dog toys was to name them Kirby and pretend to pet them.  He would then shred them mercilessly until destroyed.

He ruptured a disk in his back, and lost his mobility mid-torso down. We debated about putting him down, or doing the expensive surgery (made worse by a holiday weekend). My folks helped us with that decision and we had 8 more terrific years.  During recovery we tried in vain to limit his jumping off furniture and running the stairs through his drug-induced haze.  Somehow he made a full recovery.

He got into a fight with a couple of racoons one night.  They clawed his mouth - shredding his gums.  He didn't back down, and chased them all off.

He also hated "stinky kitties" (skunks).  One night he surprised one, got sprayed square in the face, and kept going back for more.  I wasn't so proud of his courage this night.

He loved to ride in the car.

Strangers all thought he was a puppy when they met him.  He was cute and full of spunk, even at 12 years old.  The picture above is only 5 months ago.

We were worried how Mario would respond when Tommy arrived - so much we didn't leave them unattended in the same room for some time.  Eventually he earned our trust.  He wasn't thrilled, but Mario willingly relinquished his position as #1, and even seemed to like Tommy from time to time.

I'm sorry Mario, that you weren't #1 in your last year of life - this was a hard adjustment for you.  I'm sorry that you died alone.  I wish we'd had a chance to say goodbye properly, but are glad you didn't suffer long months of pain.  You'll live in our hearts forever.

THE BEST PLACE TO BURY A DOG

There is one best place to bury a dog.

If you bury him in this spot, he will

come to you when you call - come to you

over the grim, dim frontier of death,

and down the well-remembered path,

and to your side again.



And though you call a dozen living

dogs to heel, they shall not growl at

him, nor resent his coming,

for he belongs there.



People may scoff at you, who see

no lightest blade of grass bent by his

footfall, who hear no whimper, people

who may never really have had a dog.

Smile at them, for you shall know

something that is hidden from them,

and which is well worth the knowing.



The one best place to bury a good

dog is in the heart of his master.



--- Ben Hur Lampman ---

from the Portland Oregonian Sept. 11, 1925

Blogs

I recently found this blog, The Texan Who Would be King, referred via Michael Yon's site.  It's straight from the trenches in Afghanistan and so interesting - go check it out.  Oh, and if you don't read Michael Yon, shame on you, but check it out too.

Also, my mother-in-law turned me on to Hyperbole and a Half.  It's quite funny and we really enjoy the dog postings...

Man I love fireworks

I didn't know I had these videos from "Pie N' Beer" Day...

Houston, we have lift off

Well, Tommy took his first steps yesterday and as I suspected, he's "stepping out" in fine fashion.  He didn't take 1, 2, or 3 steps, he took 5 and might have taken more if mommy hadn't been so excited she distracted him.  Since then, he's been walking a few steps constantly.  Katie did a great job of capturing a little on video but as most parents know, your kid usually clams right up or refuses to perform when the camera comes out.

My Symbiote

I couldn't imagine trying to feed Tom without Mario close at hand to clean up. I think every dog needs a boy as much as every boy needs a dog.  Of course, it's a fickle relationship.  Mario could better be described as Tommy's frenemy - happy to take his food and lick his fingers clean, but otherwise wanting nothing to do with him.